When I was a little girl I spent a lot of time with my grandparents.
They actually raised me more than my parents ever did.
Probably the only reason I’m semi sane today. (just semi)
My grandfather would take me out into the garden every warm day to teach me about plants and nature. I loved my Grandpa more than anything – he’d dress me in his gardening hat and gloves and teach me about the beautiful plants. I was his “little buddy”.
My grandmother would teach me about lace and doilies and manners.
Grandmother was a misplaced Southern Belle. Her family came from the Carolinas and, even though she was raised in a rural Intermountain area, her heart never left the world of Magnolias and mint juleps.
Even though she grew up Mormon she never left her Bible belt televangelist ways. She would never miss Oral Roberts on television. Or miss an opportunity to force one of her granddaughters to watch the entire Oral Roberts show (or HeeHaw, or Lawrence Welk).
She had me convinced that god loved me so much that he celebrated my birthday every year.
He sent the world “June Bugs” and peonies just to celebrate.
There weren’t many happy memories from my childhood but nothing feels better than the sun on my face while taking care of my garden or the bloom of a peony.
Sometimes we have to hang on to the good, no matter how fleeting. Because just a few, fleeting moments of a memory of “good” helps you cope with the tangible, daily shit.
No matter how bad things get. Peonies are still my favorite.
They are beautiful but fleeting.
. . . like happiness